Cohen the Farmer
by kalinnnnn
Summary: Cohen has finally decided to settle down, but he has no idea of the terrible perils that civilization holds specially for him. Set before "Interesting times" Edit: United the two chapters into one.


* * *

A/N: I was re-reading "Interesting times" and I stumbled across what Caleb the Ripper said about Cohen "settling down": that he had tried once before, in a farm, but he had given up only three hours after that. So here's what happened in my opinion.

And English's not a native language, please correct me if you find mistakes.

* * *

The darkness of the night was impenetrable.

Seven barbarian heroes were gathered around the campfire, the only speck of light in the vast plains that surrounded them. Not even the moon or the stars could be seen, because heavy clouds covered the sky. Strong wind was blowing.

Normal people wouldn't stay out in such a night, or if they had to, they would at least search for a shelter to hide from the many perils of the darkness. But these men _were _the worst of those many perils, so, obviously, they didn't have anything to hide from.

Or at least nothing they could think of.

Cohen the Barbarian was the oldest one of them, and he was currently roasting a wild boar on the fire, keeping the finest barbarian traditions of boar-roasting (that is, holding the long stake with the meat over the fire and rolling it slowly until the hair burns and the skin tans to a nice brown colour; in the meantime, you swear and spit on the ground while telling everyone about the heroic deeds you did last weekend). The animal in question (oh, and you may not want to forget to add some salt and/or pepper, maybe some other spices of your choosing) had an apple in his mouth, and no one was exactly sure why. It just seemed that it had popped up when they started cooking it. (a)

* * *

A. The cosmic laws are very strict about that. There just _has _to be an apple in the mouth of the animal that is being cooked.

* * *

Cohen wasn't very talkative that night, though, and when he finished his short story of an adventure he had had with the Giant Mad Beaver of Crull, he fell silent, staring at the fire. Occasionally there was a groan from somewhere behind him, when a member of the Silver Horde tried to make himself more comfortable. Being very old took its toll on them.

"You know, that Beaver didn't put up much of a fight," Cohen said suddenly, after a long pause.

Truckle the Uncivil snorted floutingly.

"Yah, those damn huge mad beavers aren't what they used to be in the old times," he added, shaking his head.

"Whut?" Hamish decided to join in the conversation.

"HE SAYS GIANT MAD BEAVERS AREN'T WHAT THEY USED TO BE!"

"Ah, mad beavers…"Mad Hamish chuckled madly. "What I did to 'em…"

"Remember the one, guarding the treasure of Io's temple in Howondaland?" Cohen said. "He was _much _tougher than that…"

"Yeah…" Caleb the Ripper sighed. "But that was fifty years ago."

Everyone nodded.

"Hey, Teach!" Boy Willie called. "Ever met a Giant Mad Beaver?"

"No, I don't believe so," Mr Saveloy responded. He was the youngest one of them, but forty years of teaching kids had given him a lot more wrinkles than he normally should have had. "Except, of course, if you don't refer to Billy from 4 "b" class." He sighed. "What a troublesome boy he was. He once set the whole classroom on fire, you know."

There was silence for a few moments.

"Trouble is," Cohen started again, "that damn civilization is takin' over the whole world. Being a barbarian hero now just isn't… Well, yah know what I mean. The world's different now."

"Yeah, what happened to the nice old uncivilized world?" said Truckle the Uncivil, spitting on the ground. "Those bastards took it away."

"We just don't fit in any more," Old Vincent sighed. "The time of the ol' heroes is over."

They waited deferentially for a stronger blow of the wind, a shake of the ground or at least a dramatic lightning. Nothing happened.

"You can't even trust the weather now," murmured Boy Willie. "It's all gone wrong."

"Civilization," Truckle said disparagingly. "They can stick it right into their a—"

He stopped, mid-sentence, and turned around to look at Mr. Saveloy. He was very touchy on the matter of swear words.

"Anyway…" Cohen coughed. "The thing is—"

"Will you hold yer thoughts for just a second?" Truckle asked. "I need to go and take a leak. You know how it is, bladder problems and such…"

Cohen nodded. "Yeah, go."

Truckle disappeared into the darkness. They all waited patiently.

Old Vincent started humming.

Teach was reading his books, as always.

Cohen just stared at the fire, thinking about what he was about to say.

After a while Truckle was back. He sat down again and said, "So, what's on your mind?"

"You know… I was thinking that maybe we ought to settle down." Cohen coughed, he was obviously nervous. "I mean, all this heroic stuff is not valued any more. So we might just… find a place. What's the point in going on with the killings, looting and abducting, when no one even cares about it?"

They all stared at him, dumbfounded.

"Yeh know, keep in pace with the time and stuff…"

They all continued to stare at him, dumbfounded.

"You know," Truckle started in a quiet voice, "if I hadn't just taken a piss, I would've done it right now and here."

"I think I _did_," said Caleb the Ripper.

"Err…Cohen? Are you feeling all right?" asked Old Vincent worriedly.

"Of course, why wouldn't I feel all right?" Cohen snapped at him. "And why are you staring at me like that?" He looked at the Horde, sizing each member with a hard stare. "I was serious about what I said! We should try an'…an'…an' find our niche in the world!"

The fire cracked.

"Whut?" said Hamish.

No one paid him any attention.

"You know, he's got a point," Mr Saveloy said carefully after a while.

It was his turn to be stared at.

"Whut?" demanded Hamish.

"HE'S SAYIN' WE SHOULD STOP BEING HEROES AND SETTLE DOWN!" assisted him Boy Willie at last.

Even Mad Hamish was at a loss of words while his brain was chewing on carefully what he had just heard.

"He's whut?"

"We can at least try," said Cohen. "There's no reason not to."

"But... This means… We will live like normal people?"

The Horde looked disgusted. Normal people were… well, they were…they were _normal_!

"What… I mean… we don' even know how it's done!"

"How's what done?"

"Settling down!"

"Nah, it can't be too hard. I mean, everyone does it lately. And if there's something special that needs to be done, Teach here can show us."

They all stared at Mr Saveloy again.

"What else can we do?" Cohen continued.

"That's not like you at all." Boy Willie said. "Not at all."

It was the first time the Horde was in a situation like that. And what was worse, they started considering the proposition seriously. The hero business was getting really old and uncertain.

"Well… we might at least try."

* * *

"So… what do we do first?" asked Caleb the next day. They had gathered around the ashes that were left from the campfire and were discussing their Plan.

"I think we need to find a house," Cohen suggested. "Where we can live and grow crops and raise cattle and... other stuff."

"We will build one?" Mr Saveloy said. They all looked at him as if he was crazy.

"Nah. We move in an already built one."

"Then we buy it?"

The barbarians closed their eyes for a moment, shuddering. They were trying to block out the mental image of them buying _anything_.

"We take it. By force." Cohen explained patiently.

"But what happens to the previous owners?"

"We kill them," said Caleb happily.

Cohen raised a finger. "No, we're civilized now. We'll only drive them away."

"But—"

"No but! We're not barbarians any more an' so we won't act like ones!"

"Are you serious?" Caleb almost whined.

"Yes."

"Oh, a'right."

"So, wadda we do now?" Old Vincent cut in.

Cohen paused, thinking.

"We go an' find a house, 'course," he said.

* * *

"Is that one good enough?"

It was a day later. The Horde was standing on a hilltop and looking down at a valley, where they could see a small farm and a river running next to it.

"Hang on a second!" Caleb the Ripper said. "The camp we spent the night in yesterday was supposed to be hundreds of miles away from the nearest inhabited place! Then what's that farm doing here?"

"No respect for the wilderness any more," murmured Old Vincent.

Cohen was looking darkly at the house.

"That place _was _hundreds of miles away from any house last time I checked," he said.

"And when was that?"

"Yesterday."

"Wow, those bastards sure build fast," said Truckle.

"There ain't no such place anymore," Old Vincent continued ranting under his nose. "They're building _everywhere._"

There was silence for a while, as the Horde stared at the house.

"Look, can we decide faster if we're going to move in or not?" Truckle cut in. "I need to go to the lavatory again."

"Alright, let's do it. The _civilized_ way," he added when Caleb the Ripper grinned and took out his sword. "We're just gonna scare 'em away."

Caleb frowned.

"Can't we at least cut off a limb or two?"

"No."

* * *

The owner of the small cottage and the farm, not suspecting that his home was about to be raided by barbarians, was having breakfast with his family. He was a middle-aged man (in fact, _three _middle-aged men could fit into him) whose name was Mr Wilkinson, and had two kids and a wife, living their life happily together (a)

"Pass me the salt, honey," he said.

"There you go, honey."

The sheep outside started baaing all of a sudden.

"What's wrong with them?" Mr Wilkinson murmured. (c) "Honey, will you go and check them out?"

* * *

_A.That actually depends on your definition of happy. The man __was happy indeed, though, because he rarely saw his wife, except for breakfast and dinner, and she took care that he didn't see her. They were carefully planning their schedule for the day so that they wouldn't stumble across each other by accident, and they were both happy with it. (b)_

_B.Except that they must have met in their bedroom two or three times, since they had kids. __That might've spoiled Mr Wilkinson's happiness a little (but not until after a while)._

_C.In fact, The Wilkinsons came from Ankh-Morpork. They never saw a goat, or a sheep, until Mr Wilkinson succumbed to his wife's wish to get as far away from the city as possible._

* * *

"Not until we're finished with the breakfast, honey."

The door creaked open.

"Only one hand?" they heard a voice from outside.

"No."

"One, tiny little hand?"

"No."

"At least a finger? A small finger, please?"

"No."

The door opened wider and several very old men entered the kitchen. Mr Wilkinson blinked. It was the first time he saw humans that old that stood vertically on the ground.

A very definite smell of rusty lions that never bathed entered with the Horde; it practically _invaded_ the noses of the family.

"Good morning," the oldest one who had also the longest beard, said. "We're moving in."

Mr Wilkinson stared, dumbfounded.

"Where's your bathroom!" another one growled. The woman pointed at the hallway, looking at them curiously.

There was a moment of silence, when everyone stared.

"But… _we_ live here," Mr Wilkinson managed at last, finding his voice and pulling it out of the dark corner it had hidden in.

"Not anymore. Now, _please, _get out."

"He's serious," Caleb the Ripper added, pulling his sword out. "And if you don't do what 'e says, we'll start chopping your limbs off. One by one."

That threat did it. The family hurried out of the room and into the yard, screaming and yelling.

Cohen sighed.

"Did yeh have to be so uncivilized, Caleb?"

"Well, yeah."

They all turned towards Mr Saveloy.

"So, Teach, what now?"

"What're those?" Vincent went to the table and picked up a fork. Caleb looked at it curiously, probably thinking it was a new device invented to rip people apart.

"Those are forks," explained Teach patiently. "They are used to… well, to eat with them."

"How?" Caleb looked disappointed. "Look, they aren't even sharp."

"You stick it in the food… like this… and you put it in your mouth," Teach said.

"Oh yeah, and what's the use of that?"

"So that you don't get your hands dirty when you eat."

They blinked.

"Dirty?"

* * *

"Alrigh', alrigh' that's enough!"

Three hours later, the Horde ran away from the house. They were all terrified.

Mr Saveloy had lead them through the most important steps in everyday life. They just couldn't take it any more.

"Those things! The spoons! The byre! The—the toaster!" cried desperately Boy Willie. "I can't take it any more!"

They stopped at the front gate of the yard.

"We should burn the whole place down! It's a torture chamber!"

"Yeah, burn it down," Cohen nodded, panting heavily. He still hadn't fully recovered from the meeting with the so called frying pan.

Caleb sighed. "It's good to have your back ol' self, Cohen."

"Wait for me!" Mr Saveloy shouted.

"I'm not—setting foot in civilization ever again!" Cohen shouted.

"Come on, it wasn't that bad," Teach said when he caught up with them. "You should see how things are in the big ci—"


End file.
